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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605973">all my could-have-been's</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deweyfinn/pseuds/deweyfinn'>deweyfinn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>School of Rock - Lloyd Webber/Slater/Fellowes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, F/M, Post-Canon, Twenty Years Later, possibly more pairings later on</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:34:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deweyfinn/pseuds/deweyfinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty one years after the original battle of the bands, everyone's grown up and gone their own ways. When Dewey Finn loses his job at Maple Hills Academy, he finds himself swallowing his pride and moving back in with Ned and Patty once again. After another run-in with a former band-mate, Dewey needs to get the School of Rock back together for one last battle of the bands to save Ned and Patty's house, get his job back at Horace Green, and win the love of his life back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dewey Finn/Rosalie Mullins, Freddy Jones | Freddy Hamilton/Kale, Lawrence Turner/Esme, Summer Hathaway/Asher, other characters have original characters but none are super present!!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all my could-have-been's</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic is an au EXTREMELY LOOSELY inspired by the musical gettin' the band back together.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I think it’s just a timing thing, dude. I’d invest in a metronome, y’know? No shame in needing some help keeping time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Mr. Finn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No probs, Rita. That’s time, guys. See ya after break! Be safe, and all that shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music room slowly starts to empty out as the final bell rings, with all the upperclassmen in Dewey Finn’s “advanced” music class filling out. The last bell of </span>
  <em>
    <span>today</span>
  </em>
  <span> means that school’s out for almost three weeks on winter break, and that students and teachers alike get a nice break from school and work. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“See you in the new year, Mr. Finn! Have a good holiday!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Merry Christmas, Mister Finn!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still Jewish, Stephen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Seeya, Mr. Finn!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You left the instrument closet open, Finn!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Richie, gettin’ that right now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the last child files out of the band room, it’s just Dewey left in the large, empty room, left to pick up the mess the kids left behind. At the least, he figures, it’s been a half-day of school, and he’s able to take his time, plug his phone into the aux cord, and let Van Halen do the talking for a while. Dewey sets out to clean the dry-erase board, pick up trash strewn about the floor, and double-check that all instruments </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> belonging to any of the kids are put back into place in the instrument closet before he locks up for the break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been around 21 years since Dewey first found himself in the music room at Horace Green Prep, and just under 12 since he left it. By the time he left, eight years after he’d began, most of the staff that he’d started with had since left — they either got better offers at another school, retired, or got fired. Dewey, being the sociable extrovert he is, never had much of an issue making friends with the new students that he’d gotten every year, but it was pretty hard to connect with the new cycles of staff that kept coming in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ultimately, it was the School of Rock’s graduation that was the breaking straw for the music coach. Sure, he stuck it out for a year, but it was just far too much for him to walk the halls of Horace Green every day without seeing his kids in the hallway, or having band practice with his younger siblings every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Put up a tough ‘rock guy’ exterior as he tried, you didn’t need to know Dewey extremely well to know that those kids were the light of his life, and the one soft spot that he truly had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had wanted to stay at Horace Green longer, at least stay for Rosalie, but Dewey just felt that it was too hard. With his Bachelor's Degree in hand, Dewey moved to another private school, where he stayed for another five years, then to a music &amp; performing arts school, which he didn’t stay at for more than a year — </span>
  <em>
    <span>you want to talk about uptight parents and know-it-all brats?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s now just getting settled in, what, five years later at his latest preparatory school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As always, he still sticks out. Not only in the way that he dresses, as he did in Horace Green. Granted, he may have now upgraded his wardrobe to some nicer button downs and jeans, over his ol’ faithful band shirts and sweats, or those hideously clashy vests that he once sported, but it’s still far and away from the clean cut, clean shaven doctors and other overqualified teachers he now calls colleagues. No, now, it’s mostly his lively personality and vulgar speech patterns that the children appreciate and relate to which set him apart from his peers. A risky way of life for a preschool teacher, after all. While teaching music, that’s more than acceptable, but for the first half of the day, he’s with the three, four year olds. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> can be an issue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most uncomfortable difference that Dewey’s noted, however, between him and his teaching peers, is that he has zero drive to further or advance his career. While most of the other teachers view their current jobs as a stepping stone to another school, a higher position, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something better</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dewey’s been perfectly content where he is. He’s teaching kids, he’s teaching music, he’s got a good office, and a good classroom, and good pay. What more can he ask for?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here, at Maple Hills Academy, he thinks he’s found a new home. He thinks this is where he wants to stay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>xx</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who fires someone over winter break?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“This douchebag does, I guess!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey’s phone is laying flat on his desk as he works on packing up his office. Pictures on the bulletin board, hung up by music note thumbtacks one of his kids bought him for his birthday a few years ago, are taken down gently, tenderly. The photos depict various bands he’s had the honor to work with as a teacher — of course, there’s a large number of pictures featuring the School of Rock, including a framed photo of them at that first Battle of the Bands, sitting right on his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’re you gonna do?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the voice on the other side of the phone asks, with genuine concern for the music teacher coloring every word. Dewey sighs, dropping the last of the photographs into the box on the desk, before he moves to the file cabinet, collecting the file folders of lessons he never got to teach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, Ned. I’ve gotta find somewhere else to go, I guess. No way I can afford the place I’m at now like this. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>jobs</span>
  </em>
  <span> — </span>
  <em>
    <span>who’s hiring in the middle of the year?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can always go back to subbing for a while?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ned offers, and while Dewey can tell the optimism in his voice is feigned, he appreciates the effort anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who the  fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> is hiring now?” As Dewey drops the folders in a neat stack next to the box on his desk, he sighs again, a hot puff of breath that almost sounds like a bull’s. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to snap like that. I’m just — I don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Actually, Dewey, hold on a sec, okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Dewey takes this as an opportunity to drop the box and his folders in the trunk of his Kia, clearing out the empty coffee cups that he’d left discarded in the back, forgotten memories of band competitions past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Dewey re-enters the band room he can only faintly hear a voice from the speaker in his office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“D… ee??”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dewey jogs back to the small office, clamoring for the phone, switching it off speaker, and bringing it to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Sorry, I was just throwing my shit in the car.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s cool! I was just talking to Patty — do you think you’d want to stay with us for a bit? At least while you look for a new job?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about the offer sends a shock straight through him. He hadn’t lived with someone else in twenty one years. He hasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And sure, he’s got a few more weeks in his apartment, but those weeks are going to go by </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he needs to pack his entire life up and move again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost wants to say no, wants to be prideful and act like he doesn’t need to accept the help from his best friend. He almost feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>lousy</span>
  </em>
  <span> accepting the offer, like he’s got something to prove, and he’s proving the exact opposite by saying yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are - are you sure you’re okay with that?” he asks, trying to swallow his pride, and find his voice all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, of course! That’s what friends are for, right?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, that’s what friends are for, alright.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>xx</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ride back to Poughkeepsie is a long one. From Boston, it should’ve only taken him about three hours, give or take, but the inclement weather, and the holiday traffic, had not been kind to him. What should have been a mere three and a half hours max turned into six and a half hours, and to say he was exhausted would be to make the understatement of the year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey hasn’t seen Ned outside of facetime or skype in over a decade, at least, not since he and Patty got hitched. As he pulls up to the address that his GPS instructs him to, Dewey finds himself drowning in his thoughts. He’s never been a worrywart, and anxiety has rarely ever struck him, but there’s so many conflicting thoughts running through his head that he feels like he’s swimming and can’t stay afloat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snow falls outside around  him, as he turns off the lights on his car, absently watching the window fill up with the fluffy, wet, white powder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the time since he’d left Poughkeepsie, Dewey and Patty have reconciled. He’s cleaned up his act, he got a degree, he cleaned up </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He mellowed out. While there’s never going to be any universe where Dewey isn’t a loudmouth, vulgar, cocky bastard, he’s finally calmed down somewhat, become a bit more grounded. He’s grateful to know she no longer hates him, though there’ll always be that nagging voice in the back of his head that screams at him that she does, and that he’s just begging for a repeat of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span> time they lived together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how many times he tells himself he’ll be okay, there’s that small inkling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything is going to go wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> that still eats at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath, finally turning the key, and pushing his door open. As the freezing precipitation makes contact with his face, he reaches back into the car, to the passenger’s seat, pulling his scarf back out. He slams the car door closed, pocketing his keys, and wrapping his scarf around his neck. He shuffles through the snow, already piling up high, as he makes his way to the trunk of his car, pulling out a single suitcase. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything else can stay in there,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he decides, tearing his eyes away from the remains of the last five years that have been ripped away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes the trunk,  before letting himself look up at the house that stands tall and proud before him. It’s a cute house. A nice home, he thinks. A light blue house, looks like two floors, and decent size. In fact, his cute little Kia Soul looks like it fits right in with it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When did he become the kind of guy who drove an SUV? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Disgusting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the house. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The house.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s fitting for them, Dewey thinks, walking up the stairs of the front porch, stomping the snow off of his shoes and pant legs. A nice place for his best friend and his wife to settle down. Suitcase in hand, Dewey swallows his pride, raising his empty fist up towards the door, and knocks. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>short chapter to set up dewey's circumstances + give you guys an idea how our protagonist is faring atm !! majority of the story should have considerably longer chapters!! </p><p>i've been working on this au for over two years now, and i'm super excited to finally be writing it!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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